Today is our anniversary. But not really. We actually officially got married on April 25th, that is legally. We eloped. But today marks the 4th anniversary of our public family blending ceremony and we are alone. We’re going out to dinner. I can’t believe it has been four years already. In some ways it feels like 14 years. We’ve accomplished a lot except the house is still not finished!!&(*#$@@$!!!  I have slowly come to realize that it never will. I guess life is just one long work in progress.

This past week marked two great family gathering events in the Shwanda household.  Paul’s brother and five sisters all flew or drove into Santa Cruz (from as far away as Alabama and Ohio) for a family reunion  to celebrate Pop Pop’s 90th birthday. In addition, my ex-husband, Jared, took our two daughters, Sophia and Eva, to his niece’s wedding in New Jersey. Sophia and Eva got to spend the first part of the week with their step dad’s family and the second part of the week with their dad’s family. (Jared’s family is also rather large in that he has one sister and four brothers.)

It was a fun filled, busy and joyful occasion filled with lots of activities during the day with  surfing, sailing and  kayaking, and in the evenings at each other’s homes playing charades, board games and reminiscing over old photos of Pop Pop in the army and on his wedding day. Those were the moments when I looked at my girls blending in with their “step” aunts, uncles and cousins, enjoying themselves and feeling included, even though they don’t share the same heritage, history or genealogy. After Sophia and Eva left for the wedding in New Jersey, where I heard reports that they ripped up the dance floor with their East coast cousins, we had one final big party at our house on the last day of the reunion.

I had planned a menu of grilled chicken kabobs, homemade potato salad and coleslaw. It was  a pot luck and everyone brought their contribution. Paul’s older brother decided he wanted the family to take a trip down memory lane and asked his wife to prepare “bun burgers,” a dish their mother made for them as children. It stirred some fond and not so fond memories. (Apparently not everyone liked the bun burgers.) I didn’t quite get the recipe, but I watched them being prepared. Basically, you prepare ground beef like you are making hamburgers. Throw in some spices and some chopped onions, but instead of adding bread crumbs, pick out the bread from the tops of hamburger buns, which leaves a big O, tear it into pieces and add to the mix. The top of the bun is placed on the bottom half of the bun and then on a cookie sheet. Next, scoop up a  generous dollop of hamburger meat and place inside the opening of the top bun. Bake in the oven at 400 degrees and just before they are done, top with strips, in an X shape, of Kraft processed American cheese. Place back in oven until melted.

I have to say they were pretty darn good and could easily be adapted to something healthy and rather gourmet if using, say, ground turkey, whole wheat buns and  perhaps some goat cheese, instead of the fatty beef and fake cheese. The culinary nostalgia didn’t end there. No. There were fish sticks too! You know, the frozen kind that comes in a box with lots of fillers and mystery ingredients. They were a  once-a-week staple in Paul’s family’s house. Paul’s brother felt that no family reunion was complete without fish sticks and bun burgers. As we were standing around the kitchen, noshing on the retro delicacies, he lamented, “Too bad we don’t have fake milk to go with them.” Anyone who grew up in a large, budget stretching family in the 50’s and 60’s would know what fake milk is. I do. My mom used to take powdered milk, mix it with water and add it to the real milk to make it last a little longer. It was gross, but we accepted it because that’s just the way it was.

As Paul’s family reminisced about their childhood memories, I reflected on my own (I’m one of five kids.) and realized that big families are pretty much the same.  It isn’t just the food, the family vacations, the sibling squabbles and competition for the bathroom that they have in common, but rather the inherent bonds, life lessons and experiences that go with the territory. I’ve always said being part of a big family prepares you for life’s greatest challenges: To be able to get along with anyone, to know how to wait your turn, to accept delayed gratification and to tolerate things that can at times be somewhat unpleasant.

My thoughts wandered to the future as I pictured myself at Sophia’s or Eva’s wedding and imagined all the guests who would attend.  There would be my family, Jared’s family and  Paul’s. It would be  a blended family wedding… and one hell of a party.

One of the most sensitive issues in the whole blended family situation is the name thing. My kids have a different last name than my step kids and I now have a different last name than my children.  Which is the dominant name in the family? We sort of solved that problem by combining the two names into one, Shwanda, which is the name of this blog. (To read more about the transformation click here.)

I changed my last name when I got married to my first husband because I wanted to have the same last name as my children. Maybe not the feminist thing to do, but it was my decision. When I got married to my second husband he was sensitive to the fact that I had my first husband’s last name. Go figure. He told me he wouldn’t have minded if I had kept my maiden name, but the first husband’s last name kinda bugged him. I debated a bit because then my children would be offended and they were, but I changed my last name to my Paul’s anyway and my kids eventually understood. I explained to them that their last name would always be their tie to Daddy and that I wanted my last name to be my tie to my husband. So it was settled. But not quite.

Sophia, my oldest daughter, wrote about this very subject in her blog Stepkid Stories. In her post titled The Name Game Sophia revealed that she has often been asked if she has any plans to change her last name. She considers this a bizarre and intrusive question and so do I. Why would she change her last name? Even if her father were dead, I would never change my children’s last name. I could see if her dad were a dead beat and not in the picture, but anyone who knows us well knows that Sophia’s dad is a very active part of her life. Even still… it is NO ONE’S business and is a question that should never be asked.

While I was out dress shopping with Eva on Saturday, Sophia was at the high school taking her SAT’s.  When she  finished around 1pm she was starving so she came home and picked up Cheryl to take her to Burger King and then for a ride down to the beach. Sophia treated Cheryl since Cheryl has no money and Sophia has some money from her babysitting job. Sophia is  very generous that way. She doesn’t ask to be reimbursed. She is a wonderful big sister. She  often treats both Cheryl and Eva to movies and Starbucks. She reminds me of my big sisters, Nina and Pam who were also very good to me. The difference, of course, is that I was born into a family of older sisters. Cheryl was not.

Cheryl once told me that she cried on our wedding day. When I asked her why she said, “I cried tears of joy that I finally had sisters.” Sophia and Eva were not so cheerful that day because at the time they often considered  Cheryl to be  ”INSANELY ANNOYING!!!” All that has changed. Now, they wear each other’s clothes, trade makeup, ride bikes to the beach, go to the movies, hang out talking in their rooms and do just about everything together. Eva and Cheryl have this ritual every weekend when we are altogether. They pull out Eva’s wipe board and write a weekend “to do” list with tasks such as: (The spelling and parentheses are theirs.)

1. Put lemon juice in our hair and lay out in the sun.

2. Work on our tans.

3. Go to da beach.

4. Partay (not really)

5. Go to D.J.’s and get candy.

6. Create a dance routine.

7. Make a movie of our dance routine.

8. Get a samich at Joe’s

9. Wash Joey

10. Have a picnic on the trampoline.

This is the life of a 12 and 13 year-old. And what a life it is. I always tell them, “Do not ever tell me you didn’t have a wonderful childhood.”

Yesterday was Paul and mine’s fourth wedding anniversary. For those of you who are not up to speed, we got married twice. We eloped in secret on April 25, 2006 in front of the Santa Cruz lighthouse and had a public ceremony later on August 5th at a winery with our friends and family. Why two ceremonies?  Find out why by clicking on blended family finances.

It was a kid free weekend and I had hoped to spend the day yesterday with my hubby, but I was slammed with homework and finally came up for air around 3. Paul worked on the outdoor kitchen, which he’s been working on for about four years now, while I finished up my paper. Earlier in the day, we had made plans to go down to the light house and sit on the jetty while we sipped some champagne, but first I had to go to the store to get some champagne… and bread and toilet paper and stuff to eat for the week. I left the house and told Paul I would be right back. I was gone maybe half an  hour.  I was stopped at a red light as I was heading home when I saw him on his bicycle. He was waving his arms excitedly like he hadn’t seen me in years and smiling with a grin from ear to ear. I thought to myself, “Where is he going? And why? He knows we have plans?’ And then it dawned on me. He’s getting me flowers. Sure enough, as I was unpacking the groceries in the kitchen  I saw him zipping down the driveway with a colorful bouquet tucked under his arm. For as long as I live, I will always remember, and savor, that look on his face. That was the best anniversary present of all.

My daughter Sophia has recently started her own blog called Stepkids Stories,  which is her account of her experiences as a daughter, stepdaughter sister and stepsister in a blended family. Many of her stories bring tears to my eyes, tears of sadness and joy, when I recall, through her perspective, all the struggles, challenges and changes we faced in becoming a blended family. I am happy to report that it appears that we have come out on the side of success and happiness, but for a while there it did not always seem that that would be the case. I welcome you to read her stories and to share with others, especially all the kids and stepkids in your life. Sophia is also looking for comments and contributions, as she is very anxious to hear your stories too. You may contact Sophia via email: Sophia(at)Shwanda(dot)com.

This is the first in a series of Blended Family Stories in which I or one of my fellow moms and stepmoms will recount their experiences, challenges, frustrations and joys being the female head of a blended or stepfamily. If you or anyone you know would like to participate in my video log, please contact me at Carol@shwanda.com.

Bubblegum Alley

Sophia, Eva, Cheryl and I are on a Southern California tour this week to visit colleges that Sophia is considering.   We arrived yesterday in San Luis Obispo and have an appointment tomorrow to check out Cal Poly. We are having a blast. I am delighted to watch the girls explore their new surroundings, making coffee in the room, checking out the ice machine and testing the firmness of the mattresses. I am always so charmed by the sisterly camaraderie they have. You would never know that they are not blood sisters who were not raised together from birth. Their allegiance and loyalty to each other is astounding and remarkable.

Last night we had a nice dinner in downtown San Luis Obispo, which the locals here refer to as “SLO Town” for its meandering, laid back pace. We window shopped and checked out Bubblegum Alley, a local landmark that is known for its accumulation of bubblegum on the walls that has apparently been written up in the Guinness Book of World Records. It was fascinating and gross all at the same time. Later back at the hotel they watched a movie together in bed while I did homework. We just finished a workout at the fitness center and they are at the pool. When they return we are going to head down to Avila Beach to check out the sights and maybe do SOME SHOPPING !!!.

This past week, Tuesday, March 30th, to be exact, marked the fifth anniversary of Paul’s and my first date. As I mentioned before, we met online on Match.com. He wrote to me first. We met at a coffee shop. He bought me a cup of  chai and I bought him peanut butter cookie and he wore this really dorky Hawaiian shirt, leather jacket and cowboy boots, which I believe he still has. We had a connection … and the rest is history.

We planned to mark the occasion by leaving the kids home alone and sneaking out after dinner to “reenact” our first date. But… that didn’t pan out. Instead I had a headache and homework to do and Paul, being the absolute doll that he is, sensed my bad mood and in his usual caring, loving way,  alleviated my stress by  offering  to pick up takeout. He came home with several dishes from my favorite local Asian restaurant and a bottle of Windy Oaks pinot noir, the winery where we got married. We stayed home and lit a fire.

While he was out picking up our dinner, I routed through some files and found copies of our original email exchanges I had printed out, which I read to him later when we were alone. It reminded me of why I fell in love with him, why I still love him and I shuddered at the thought that I almost never wrote back to him in the first place. Below is a quote in its entirety  of the very first email he  sent to me exactly as he wrote it.

“I read your profile iand see yours yours. Seems like parallel paths, but a few miles apart within Santa Cruz!”

That’s it folks. That’s all I got. Not only was it riddled with misspellings that made the statement  basically unintelligible, but THAT WAS ALL HE HAD TO SAY??? Where was the worship and adoration I was seeking? No, “You’re so beautiful and fascinating that I  cannot wait to meet you!” It is hard for me to imagine now, but I almost wrote him off for his bad grammar and lousy punctuation, which is ironic when I consider what a great writer Paul is. He proofreads all of my papers for school and his input makes them so much better. He is meticulous, neat and tidy in so many areas of his life (except that he often leaves his dirty socks and underwear on the bedroom floor) that it is hard for me to believe that I almost let him get away for the careless, inconsiderate slob I initially perceived him to be. This brings me to my point, ladies: Don’t let the good ones get away while you pine away for some idealized fantasy of some fairytale prince that you have built up in your mind as THE ONE.

I just finished reading a fantastic book that I believe  is perhaps the most seminal in depth study of male/female relationships that I cannot recommend it enough. It is called, Marry Him: The Case for Settling for Mr. Good Enough I know, the title puts you off a little bit. It is a little offensive. How dare anyone expect you to settle? Like it’s a dirty word. The author Laura Gottlieb makes a strong case for doing just that. Settling in this context is more about compromise and being realistic,  and ultimately  about acceptance.

Gottlieb learned this lesson the hard way and is trying to spare other women of committing the same mistakes. She says women today have a heightened sense of entitlement. They expect too much without really thinking about what they have to give to get. She quotes Dr. Michael Broder, a Philadelphia-based psychologist who specializes in relationships as saying, “For these women, not only is the imagined guy a fantasy, but so is the actual relationship. After all, there’s a limit to what a relationship can provide.  They are looking for a relationship from the perspective of what the guy can provide for them — a ‘me-me-me thing’ — instead of wanting something more reciprocal.” He went on to say that our mother’s generation was not like this. “They may have wished, but certainly didn’t expect, that their husbands would constantly want to please them, be attracted to them, entertain them, enjoy sharing all of their interests, and be the most charming person in the room. Instead they knew that marriage involved failing health, aging, boredom, periods of stress and disconnection, annoying habits, issues with children,  hardships and misunderstandings of all sorts.”

I know women like this and they are all alone. A few years ago I tried to introduce my never married 40ish friend to a really great guy I knew whom I described to her as, “Sweet, kind, really good looking, fun, active, smart, funny, has a good job and owns his own home.” Her response? How tall is he? She just couldn’t date him if he wasn’t at least five inches taller than she. He wasn’t. He’s now married to someone else and she’s still alone. I know another woman who will summarize her first date by telling you what he wore. She’ll describe his shirt, his shoes and the car he drove. There is never any mention of his character or  personality, how he treated her, what they talked about or how she felt when she was with him. She told me recently, “I just want a guy who’s crazy about me.” Oy.

Relationships are work. They take effort, investment, time and patience. NO ONE is perfect. We all have flaws. My 40ish friend was 30 pounds over weight when she made her  “I can’t date a short guy” proclamation.  Imagine if the tables were turned and he said, “Sorry, I can’t take a gal who’s chubby.” He’d be a cad. She, on the other hand, is selective. She won’t settle.

I didn’t settle either. I have my standards. My husband had to love kids and dogs. He had to be kind, loving, smart and funny. No bad tempers or substance abuse issues. I can still remember that first time I stood in Paul’s kitchen and he poured his heart out to me. He confessed that he really didn’t have much money. (As if I couldn’t guess. Financial hardship is often a by product of divorce.) I knew I loved him when I didn’t care. We could make a life together and we started planning that minute. Thank god I didn’t toss him aside when I got that first email.